


You With the Sad Eyes

by wildwinterwitch



Series: Driftwood [4]
Category: Broadchurch, True Love (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Series 1 Episode 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-30
Updated: 2013-03-30
Packaged: 2017-12-06 23:22:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/741378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildwinterwitch/pseuds/wildwinterwitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holly seeks comfort in an unlikely place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You With the Sad Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from _True Colours_ by Eva Cassidy.

She didn’t sense him enter, but the collective intake of breath and subsequent murmur caught her attention and she turned around in her seat. He sat down in one of the few empty pews at the back of the church, just behind a blonde woman. The woman smiled at him. Whatever she said was lost in the low murmur and the shuffling of shoes as people made themselves comfortable. He looked pained by the blonde’s approach and looked away.

Holly turned to face the altar.

She wasn’t sure if coming was such a good idea. She wasn’t religious and the comfort that came from believing in a higher being was something that had always eluded her. Tangible comfort, or kind words, was what she needed. Her mum was what she needed, but they'd rarely spoken after she told her about being in love with Karen. Still Paul's service was the first place she'd thought of after leaving the hospital.

Holly ducked her head and looked at the landscape of her clasped hands where they lay in her lap. It was all Paul’s fault, he and his quiet, unobtrusive way, his readiness to listen and advise without a healthy dose of something theological slathered all over it.

She should have gone to the café to read in the company of strangers. A walk along the cliffs wasn’t a good idea — there was too much space there for her thoughts.

One day, she knew, she’d have to give in an mourn Karen. Oddly enough, she wasn’t quite ready for that yet. _Do you have to be ready to mourn?_ she wanted to ask. She reached inside the pocket of her Barbour coat and closed her fist around the pieces of sea glass. They had collected it on their walks along the beach, and a jar of it had sat on Karen’s bedside table in the hospital. She’d loved to look at it as the evening light played in the colours and painted colourful patterns on her skin and the sheets.

The DI had been in hospital too, for a head injury from slipping in the shower. Just the kind of injury you got from running into a door. Rubbish, she thought. Men like the DI didn’t slip in the shower, men in their prime. He hadn’t been in a brawl — no bruised face, no raw knuckles. The gash looked angry, and the DI ghostly pale.

She turned around.

He looked better now. Stony-faced, as he listened to Paul’s words. What had hardened him so terribly?

As she turned back to face the front, she caught Tom Miller’s eye. She smiled at him. His mother checked who had caught his attention. She smiled too. Beth Latimer was in the row in front of her. Holly recognised her profile. Should she go and say something after the service? Words of sympathy? Her story in the Sunday Herald had been heartbreaking. But, she feared, a mistake. The paparazzi outside the churchyard seemed to prove that point.

She wondered about the grim determination hiding the sadness in the DI’s eyes this morning. They should have shared a cup of tea together. They seemed to have been able to find solace in each other’s company the day before. Or at least she had.


End file.
